Music for the season

For some reason I've had a lot of reggae playing in my head lately.  Maybe it just feels right for the summertime.  I got into reggae years ago, probably when I noticed its influence on rock music (Eric Clapton, The Police, even The Clash.)  My interest in it ebbs and flows.  The past week, I've been hearing Jimmy Cliff a lot.  He's one of the superstars of reggae, and has been playing for something like 45 years now.


Wonderful World, Beautiful People- probably my favorite of his, and a nice relaxing tune with a message.



Club Paradise- title song from the soundtrack of the movie (one of those where the soundtrack is better than the movie; still worth checking out.)



The Harder They Come- from the movie of the same name; Cliff starred again.



Vietnam- a sad protest song.

We're All In This Together

Where to start?  George Zimmerman got off for killing a boy.  Yes, boy.  I am tired of seeing "child" written and said sneeringly.  He was a child, legally and in reality.  Sweetie's brothers are kids, children, boys, who are about the same age as Trayvon Martin.  I have a friend who was a big kid in high school.  Any of them could have been, or still could be, in the same situation, not doing anything wrong, and get killed- for what?  Because someone is nervous?  Because someone has a complex, thinks he needs to guard his neighborhood?  I learned a long time ago, from my parents and by experience, to call the cops if something's going on.  Why did Zimmerman feel the need to follow Martin, and get out of his car?

That's really the main thing that makes this not self-defense.  How can you start something, put yourself in a situation, make it worse, and then when you start getting your ass kicked, kill them and claim self-defense?  You can, if you forget everything that happened up to that point, I guess...  But let's try a few things out.  What if Martin had been the one in the SUV, called 911, was told not to follow Zimmerman.  But he did, got out, there was a fight- which he started losing- and he shot Zimmerman and left him lying on the ground.  Self-defense?  Would the cops arrive and accept his story, and not arrest him?  Or how bout two white guys, or two black guys?  Is it still self-defense in the same situation?

What if I go into a biker bar, pick a fight with a big leather-clad biker, and when I start getting my ass kicked as I surely would, shoot him?  Is that self-defense?  Or just me getting what I deserved?  What if I rob a bank, and on the street out front a guard or a passer-by tackles me and slams my head into the pavement?  Can I kill him and claim self-defense?  I'm just "standing my ground."

How about if we reimagine the exact situation that happened.  Not that we know all the details, just Zimmerman's account.  But accepting all that, what would have happened if Martin had a gun?  When Zimmerman confronted him, I'm sure one or both would say "what the fuck are you doing?"  (I'm guessing something like that was said by one or both in reality.)  Let's say Martin feels threatened, and kills Zimmerman.  Standing his ground, right?  No biggie.  He'd be acquitted, surely...

Race is clearly woven tightly into what happened.  I can't add much to the huge amount of commentary out there about this case.  But these thoughts have been on my mind.  And even if you can pull race out, there is no way it was self-defense.  Legal in Florida, maybe.  But not right.

Heck, I was a teenage boy once.  I wasn't big, but maybe if I wore a hoodie I would look threatening in the dark, in the rain, to someone who was looking for trouble.  I was a boy, so I did dumb stuff (some would say I'm still a teenage boy, and still do dumb stuff...)  Was I a threat, walking home from the store?  Or as a pudgy middle-aged white guy, will I now be seen as a potential threat by black kids?  If I drive behind them, maybe stop to ask directions, will I make them nervous?  Anyone could be a vigilante.

What happens now?  Already it looks like there are Zimmerman wannabes, claiming SYG when they are just shooting who they want to shoot.  And what should young black kids do?  Should they carry a gun, so that there's at least a chance of not ending up dead?  Robert Heinlein said "An armed society is a polite society."  I hope that's true.  But it feels like it's just going to be a twitchy, heavily-armed one, and we're going to have more dead people because of this.

A little mood music...

Lots going through my head lately.  Things I'll write about, now and later.  Politics, music, you name it.  For now, here's some music I've been listening to.  The Clash are one of the first bands I got really into.  Though mainly playing punk, they also introduced me to reggae (though it might be hard to see that influence in these songs.)  As always, these tunes just scratch the surface.  I recommend digging a little deeper.


I Fought The Law- my favorite version of this oldie





Rock The Casbah- probably their biggest hit



Should I Stay Or Should I Go- another big hit

Scandal-less

Oh, man.  The horror of having to talk to people about politics.  I stand in one place for most of the day at work, so I can't get away from it sometimes.  But the stupidity... the stupidity... (Say it like Kurtz: "The horror.  The horror.")

"Edward Snowden seems like such a nice guy.  Surely he didn't do anything wrong.  He had to flee the country, he was afraid for his life."  Yeah, I would be too after exposing secrets.  But he's much safer in prison here than in an airport, hotel, wherever, whether it's in Russia, China, Venezuela... If we want to off him, we'll do it over there.  Once he's in custody here, that would be embarassing...

And really?  He's a nice guy?  Like, say, Dahmer?  Going to places like Russia and China doesn't exactly make him look nice.  Or innocent.  And even if he doesn't hand information over to them, they'll probably steal it from him anyway.

This whole thing is silly.  I knew about this kind of program years ago.  Even if you didn't, you had to know we were doing stuff like it.  And you know that if this had happened in 2002, conservatives would be screaming for his head.  Now, they seem confused and divided.  As do liberals.  What it comes down to is that he stole secrets.  He's not a whistleblower.  He's a spy.  Maybe he's not doing it for money.  Maybe he believes what he's saying.  Plenty of spies before him have said the same kinds of things, and believed them.

So, no surprises, no scandal.  But everything has to be a scandal.  Obama goes to Africa- "How can he justify spending $60 million when we have the sequester?"  Uh, $60 million is pocket change anymore.  Do you know how much planning and equipment is involved in presidential trips?  And it's not like he's going on vacation to cut brush down.  It's a diplomatic trip.

Where are the scandals?  Where is the wrongdoing?  Republicans keep trying to gin up scandals, to make mountains out of molehills, molehills out of pebbles.  There's nothing there.  The IRS "scandal" is based on nothing- all sorts of groups were investigated, not just Teabaggers.  Benghazi was a bad scene, but not a scandal.  If people had the slightest awareness of history (heck, of reality,) they'd realize there's nothing controversial about any of this.   Can we please talk about real things for a change?

Flashback

Ever since I posted some Joan Jett videos, I've been hearing her on my mental soundtrack.  So here are a few more...


I Hate Myself For Loving You




Light of Day- with Bruce Springsteen




Bad Reputation




The French Song- I had forgotten all about this one...




Everyday People- yet another cover that eclipses the original for me

 

Hey, Hey, Paula

So, wow.  Last week everyone was talking about Paula Deen, who is- surprise!- racist.  And some people were defending her- "She built Food Network!" "She said one bad word 30 years ago; why is she losing her job?"

Let's get the inconsequential stuff out of the way first.  She did not build Food Network; it had been doing fine well before her.  I used to watch it a lot.  And when she started appearing on it, she immediately left a bad taste in my mouth.  I don't know if I've ever watched a whole episode of any of her shows.  I don't know exactly what turned me off.  Maybe a fat person making food that will make her even fatter? Hey, I love southern food.  I love unhealthy food.  But I eat it in moderation.  And I try to find ways to make it a little healthier (and still tasty.)  Or maybe it was the faux-folksy stuff.  Something just rubbed me the wrong way.  And when a guy at work went to her restaurant and told me how good it was, I knew I was right to dislike her (I don't trust his opinions on food.  He pretty much likes what I dislike.)

As for "she said it once a long time ago:" Bull.  Shit.  Even ignoring all the allegations (and you know at least some of them are true,) the way she answered when asked if she had ever used the n-word let me know exactly where she was coming from.  "Yes, of course."  I mean, I appreciate her honesty.  But that attitude shines through- of course you have?  Racism's not just a southern thing, and I have seen and do see it up here in the Midwest.  And I'm sure when she grew up, and where she grew up, it was more common, maybe even pervasive.  But there are decent people from the south, who don't say that, who treat people with dignity.  "Of course."  That says a lot.

And the antebellum dinner party just creeps me out.  I can't believe anyone would think that would be fun.  All of which goes to show that she didn't just "say it once a long time ago." If that's really all it was, people wouldn't be upset.

There's a lot going on here.  Race still matters, despite SCOTUS decisions, despite whatever comes of the Zimmerman trial.  I can't get into all of it here, and I don't feel qualified- I've seen it, I haven't really experienced it myself.  But I do know a few things.  I know n----- is an awful word.  Some say "well, black people say it so why is it wrong if white people say it?"  That shows appalling ignorance, which goes back to my theory about people lacking historical perspective.  (Someday I'll write a post about that.)  Besides which, many black people don't say it, and don't like hearing it from anybody.  And then there's "well, he said cracker and that's just as bad."  Bull, again.  Not all bad words are the same.  There's a difference between "crap," "shit," and "eat shit and die, motherfucker."  Cracker is nothing like the n-word, and people who equate the two, and make all these other arguments defending racism, know damn well they're not the same.

If you use that word, don't use it around me.  And if you think like Paula (and think she's a victim,) sit down and think a bit about what you're doing, to others and to yourself.  Even if you don't believe in evolution, it's time to evolve.  To grow up.  To realize that people are people.  And if you're still going to be a jackass, don't try to justify it.  Just shut up and let the rest of us get on with trying to make the world a better place.

Close To My Heart

Well, my plan was to enjoy this long week off.  And I did. I relaxed with the amazing Miss Mox, my sweetheart.   We did a lot of fun stuff: saw a couple of movies, walked in the park, went to an old house (Adena,) grilled out.  Maybe not the kind of things that thrill everyone else, but stuff that we like.  And doing anything with her is fun.  (I'm not exaggerating.  She is smart, and a smartass, and- once she's had her coffee- makes anything enjoyable.)

I also intended to write a lot, read a lot, do a lot around the house.  I did read a bit, and do some around here.   I puttered about the house, and ran some errands I had to like renewing my driver's license (my new pic looks like a mugshot.)  Writing... not so much.  I took notes.  I pondered ideas.  I was having far too much fun to write much of anything down.  Now my vacation is almost over, and I'm left with a pile of things I had hoped to get done.  No regrets- I'll get done what I need to in the next couple of days, and do the rest over the next few weeks and months.

I did do one thing I had been thinking about for a long time: I got a tattoo.  Now, I've never really wanted a tattoo, or any other body alteration.  I toyed with getting my ear pierced in high school.  This was years ago, when it was a relatively new thing for guys to do; I believe it involved a bet with a friend about getting into certain colleges.  I didn't make it into the one I was shooting for, MIT I think.  I'm cool with other people doing whatever they want to themselves; it just never excited me.  And more recently it has become so popular that almost everyone my age or younger has one, and I am the kind of person who will purposely not do what everyone else is doing.  Maybe it's an extension of not liking crowds?  Maybe I'm just a contrarian asshole?  Anyway, I had never considered getting a tattoo.

Then my brother died.  As you can imagine, that was a huge blow to me, and my family.  Our dad had died a couple of years before, and that was bad enough.  But Andy and I got through that together.  It was really hard getting through Andy's death.  He would have been the person I turned to- I needed him there to support me!  Our family pulled together, but it was still a rough time.  Thankfully I had Miss Mox, who helped me so much, even from afar.  She's still there for me when something little makes me think of Andy.  She got to meet him once, which is something else I am immensely thankful for.  They got along well, and we all had a blast that last time I saw him.

I think of him all the time, particularly at this time of year since he was so into plants.  There are so many things I want to ask him, tell him, show him.  So it's not like I'm going to forget him.  But talking to his friends, and remembering him, planted an idea in my head.  He was into nature, and involved in Native American spirituality. He told a few people that his spirit guide was the dragonfly.  Now, I have heard that you're not supposed to tell anyone that; I don't know all the details, but he might have had a vision about it, or maybe just really liked them.  Maybe he picked the dragonfly and shared it, but kept his true spirit guide a secret (I kinda hope that's the case.)  Still, dragonflies were important to him, as was Native culture in general, and I had a little vision- of a dragonfly with eagle feathers as its wings.  And since he had some tattoos, getting one to memorialize him seemed appropriate.  I ran the idea by the wise woman and medicine man he knew, and they approved.  So I started looking at designs, and had a pretty good idea what I wanted.

But I was nervous about getting the tattoo, and unsure about whether someone could really translate my idea into reality.  I researched tattoo parlors a bit, and talked to people who have tats about the whole process.  I kinda let it simmer on the back burner of my subconscious.  Then, walking in the park the other day with Miss Mox, little dragonflies swooped around us.  I thought of Andy watching them, and looking at the plants flourishing along the path.  And so I figured- now's a good time.  I have some time off, and if I wait I'll just put it off forever.  So we went to the place I picked, and talked to an artist about our ideas (sweetie got one too- an infinity symbol, for us.  I might get a matching one- we'll see how I feel when this heals...)

Alison, the tattoo artist, came up with a design that looked really cool; I asked for a few changes, which she made so it looked just as I'd imagined it- actually better.  And then- holy shit- I was under the needle.  I was nervous.  I knew there'd be pain but not how much.  And- it wasn't bad.  Oh, it wasn't fun; call it moderate discomfort with some pain.  But Miss Mox was there to distract me, and Alison walked me through it.  I had leafed through her sketchbook and was impressed by her artistic ability, and she helped me relax even when I was wincing.

The whole staff were welcoming and easygoing.  A modern tattoo parlor is a cross between a clinic and an art gallery- nothing like the grubby ones from old movies.  It was a pleasant experience from start to finish.  Okay, I'm lying, there were a few minutes of unpleasantness, but I gritted my teeth and made it through.

I wish Andy were here.  I think he'd like the tattoo.  I think of him when I see it.  I miss him.  But this will keep him near my heart, physically as well as emotionally.